The things left unsaid
by JHWforever
Summary: Sherlock leaves John with things that were left unsaid...
1. Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey you guys! :3 This is something I tried a while ago. I don't usually write stories or fanfics but the idea popped up in my mind so here I am! If you guys want the next chapter, do write to me in the reviews. I would love to hear what you think. :)**

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"John?"

I heard somebody calling my name from a far distance. I groaned in reply.

"John, are you okay?"

I tried to open my heavy eyelids, realizing I was in the hospital, sleeping. Sarah was peeking over looking quite concerned.

"Oh I was just-" I said trying to cover up, my voice breaking with each word.

"You need to get some rest, John. You look terrible. I will cover for you today" She said half smiling.

"That would be great Sarah. Thank you. Again" I said sheepishly. I couldn't be any more grateful to her. I had no single occasion to sleep in last 48 hours. Thanks to Sherlock.

I got out of the hospital as soon as I could, longing to climb into my bed. My eyelids were heavy. My feet were protesting as I ran down the street to find a cab. I would usually walk to 221B Baker Street but today, with my every body part crying in pain, I had to get a cab. I called out to cabs passing by, finding none empty. I wondered how Sherlock would produce one with just a flick of hand.

My stomach growled reminding me to feed myself. There won't be any food left, of course. Sherlock must have used it for one of his experiments or thrown it out to make some space in the refrigerator for human thumbs. I frowned. I decided to make some tea once I get home. I kept my legs pushing.

Finally I got a cab. I got home to find Mrs. Hudson was not in her room. Probably chatting with Mr. Chatterji down the street, I thought, smiling lightly remembering Sherlock's science of deduction of her. I climbed up the stairs and peeked into Sherlock's room. He was right there on the couch with hands clasped together, eyes shut, thinking about something so intently that I thought he was manipulating his dreams. Well he's Sherlock. I was almost convinced he could do anything if he decided.

"John" Sherlock said without opening his eyes. I will never understand how he recognizes people with eyes closed. I entered the messy room.

The walls had two more bullet shots.

"Angry today, are we?" I asked looking around. He didn't answer. I have almost stopped expecting replies to my questions.

"Fancy a cup of tea?" I tried again. He loosened his grip of hands, eyes still closed, and pointed his long, slender digits to the couch side table boasting two cups and a fuming kettle. This was different. Sherlock never made tea or for that matter, he hardly drank any. I would have to force him to drink it when he would sit on his study table with his laptop and not bothering winter chills coming in from the open window. Once he catches cold he then would use his own medicines ignoring any medicines I give, calling them 'stuff for ordinary people'. This was not only the case of tea or medicines. He hardly eats anything. I don't understand how he keeps himself alive. Since I moved in here, I felt like a baby sitter. But I'm not complaining. It was a compensation for not being very useful in the cases; instead, getting myself kidnapped and making him rescue me like Superman rescuing a blonde. I laughed at the thought.

"What is so funny?" Sherlock asks with an eyebrow raised. I never realized he had opened his eyes. His gray eyes were penetrating.

"Er, nothing. You made tea? Wait- are you testing me for some bloody experiment? Sherlock, I swear-"

"Don't be a pretty little girl, John" He rolled his eyes sitting up bolt right.

"I am not being a pretty little girl, you are being weird. You never make me tea."

"People change, John." sounding clearly bored.

"People do, you don't"

"Do you even want this tea or should I just throw it all away?"

"I do." I settled myself in the rocker chair opposite to him.

"So what so special today?" I was not ready to let go.

"I thought you would like to have tea after 12 hour shift" He sounded indifferent to his changing behaviour.

"Well, that's very odd and generous of you, then"

"I take it as compliment." He said smugly. We sat there in silence for some time and finished our tea.

"I'm off to bed now." I announced, jumping up from the chair.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

I halted for a second. I spun around to find him eyeing me indifferently.

"Sorry, what?"

"John, you heard me. Don't make me repeat. You know how much I hate it"

"Well that's a bit-you know-"

"Oh John while you work up to find syllables to make your sentence I will be upstairs in the bed" He sprung up straight and headed to the door.

"Wait!" I grasped his elbow and made him face me. "Don't you think it's a bit, er, awkward?"

"Oh, John, we live together, we share our expenses, we work together, I don't see awkwardness that you see"

"But we are grown men. People don't sleep on the same bed, Sherlock."

"People are boring. Besides I would have to run anyway just to make you realize that you are in London and not in Afghanistan when you have one of those nightmares. And since it's been two nights of no sleep, you are likely to get shot in the shoulder again in the dreams. I will be there to give you a dose of paracetamol as you tend to forget every night. So I think it's logical for me to be there beside your bed when you start shouting and waking up Mrs. Hudson who, by the way, thinks you are suffering from a psychological disorder. Now if you will excuse me I would be up in your room." He said in a breath, without a single pause.

He grabbed his laptop and turned without looking back, striding his long legs up the stairs. I frowned. All I had wished for was a good night sleep after two sleepless nights. I just wanted to be alone. But there was no point fighting. Pinching my nose bridge to find some patience, I followed him.

I entered my room with puckered brows hoping he'd be able to see I was not at all thrilled with the idea of him being in my bed. Sherlock had settled himself in the bed with laptop and sheets pulled up to knees. He was sitting on the side where I slept every night.

"Sherlock, that's my side you are sitting on"

"Hm"

"Sherlock, go to the other side" I crossed the room and tugging his elbow I tried to make him move.

He didn't even move or acknowledge what I was saying.

"Fine. Be a git" I stomped my feet and climbed up the bed from the other side. I pulled up the sheet with as much force as I could muster with whatever energy I had. I really wished the sheets would hurt him somehow. But he didn't notice my struggle or maybe he just ignored me like he always did.

Time passed and I waited for sleep to take over my conscious.


	2. Chapter 2

**AUTHOR'S**** NOTE:** **Thank you for visiting again. You guys are awesome : 3 ****This chapter is little short. ****Hope you guys enjoy. If you have any suggestions, PM me or write in review. I would like to hear your thoughts :)**

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Sun was burning bright on head. I kept running through the dingy lanes but there was none to be seen. My throat was thick and dry, clothes torn up and wet with sweat. My eyes were frantically darting through the alley to find the house. He has to be here. I knew they were after me. I knew they would get me one day. My eyes were not able to focus with sharp and bright spots obscuring my vision. I could hear my breath getting heavier. I took a glance back. There was nobody to be seen in the frighteningly deserted lane but I knew they were watching me. After a long, tiring run I could finally locate the wooden house. A feeling of safety ran through me and I pushed my legs faster.

As soon as I reached the filthy house, I ran to the front door and jerked it open. There was a woman sitting on the huge central couch but I couldn't see her face.

As I moved closer the woman turned to face me. It was Harry.

Harry smiled brightly. _What was she doing here? And where was he?_ I looked around the room.

With a loud thud, the house shuddered. They were here.

I looked at Harry. She looked scarred. She ran to the door where I stood and hid behind me. I covered her with one hand and held the gun steady in the other as the door opened.

For the next some seconds, heavy firing disabled my listening and sight. Harry shrieked and fell to the ground.

"NO!" I yelled and ran to where Harry fell. But something hit my shoulder so hard. I cried out in pain. When I looked back at the ground, she wasn't there. It was him, lying on the ground, blood spurting out of his head and eyes wide open.

Sherlock was dead.

He was there right in front of me, dying and I couldn't do a thing.

"SHERLOCK!" I shouted at the dead as tears streaming down my cheeks.

It was when I realized someone was shaking me vigorously. Somebody was calling out for me from a distance.

"John!" The voice was coming closer and closer. I didn't care. I wanted all of this to stop. I wanted to die.

"John, wake up!"

I flashed open my eyes. Sherlock had his arms around me. My face was buried in his chest; his sweet and distinct smell feeling up my nostrils.

I was safe. _He_ was safe.

I tried to get up.

"Don't move" He said almost threateningly. I obeyed. Closing my eyes, I tried to concentrate. His grip around my shoulder loosened. I tried to object but I could not find my voice. I didn't want to be alone. Not right now.

"Drink" He ordered.

I opened my eyes as he handed me a glass of water. Sherlock helped me get up. I gulped it all down in one go.

"So, what was it about this time? You yelled my name" Curiosity was burning in his eyes. I shook my head gaining a frown in response.

I just saw him die. I felt the pain I had never felt before. I cried, for God's sake! What was wrong with me?

Taking a deep breath, I looked around. Sherlock was looking intently in his laptop now.

"So, you never slept?" My voice was still thick with sleep.

"Nah, I was, er, busy" He said without looking up.

I peeked in his laptop. What on Earth would keep him busy at this ungodly hour, I wondered.

"What the hell are you looking at that Irene woman's website?" As much as I hated the woman, I regretted saying it. You don't talk ill of the dead. And you _never_ talk ill of the people Sherlock likes.

"Why does it upset you?"

"It doesn't. She betrayed you. She worked for Moriarty, Sherlock" I said fighting to keep my voice normal. He didn't respond.

That woman had annoyed me from the second I saw her in naked attire. I admit she had a great body but I never liked the way she talked to Sherlock. More than that, I never liked the way Sherlock talked to her showing off his skills. Okay, I agree he always does that. But there was always something different when he talked to _her_. It felt like the consulting detective had finally found the one. I jerked off the thought dismissively.

"I am off to sleep again. Are you staying?"

"Hmm" That is the maximum response you get to a polar question. I readjusted the sheets and crawled inside. I was asleep within no time.

It was the uncomfortable sweat that woke me. I opened my eyes just in slits. _Was it raining?_, I wondered as my senses had not yet returned. I yawned wide, struggling to shake away the sluggishness. I looked on the side. Sherlock was still asleep. This is the only time when you see Sherlock helpless and relaxed. His chick bones were more pronounced somehow. Unruly curls of his were lingering on his forehead. He lay there peacefully with mouth hung open. He looked like a baby. He looked adorable when he is quiet, I agreed. A smile crossed my face.

After laying there for some time, I made an unsuccessful effort to move, realizing my hand was held between tight grasp of Sherlock's hands. I tried to free myself without waking him up but it wasn't possible as he had his leg thrown around my knees. I gave up.

For the first time since he announced his plans to sleep in my bed, I didn't find this situation uncomfortable. In fact, I didn't quite understand why, I found myself feeling contented. I felt relaxed as my hand lay there in his tight grasp. I felt protected, secured. I was so alone before I met Sherlock. I lived a lonely life and now I was dreading to go back. Sherlock, with his utter weirdness, had made me feel alive again. The time I saw him by the pool when Jim Moriarty had held me as a hostage, I felt oddly relaxed. I knew if there was any one to get us out of the deadly situation that would only be him. The second I saw him I knew we were safe, though he wasn't quite sure of that. Sometimes he really needed to trust his abilities.

Sherlock moved his hands, actually our hands, to his mouth, my hand touching his lower lip. His lip felt soft. A gush of blood ran to my face. An unsettling, yet sweet feeling trickled down my spine. He moved his lips against the back of my hand to mouth something just above whisper.

"John, I need you."


	3. Chapter 3

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**** Welcome back! :D Thank you so much for visiting! Cookies to everyone and extra cookies to people who reviewed :3**

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Sherlock continued sleeping with me for the next two weeks. I was, of course, happy with this adjustment. I stopped complaining about Sherlock sleeping on my side of the bed. I got used to it. In fact, I was happy as long as Sherlock spends his nights with me. The awkwardness I had felt on the very first night had melted into a sweet, warm feeling of having the consulting detective in my bed. On the second night, I was convinced Sherlock wouldn't come. Sherlock knew exactly when I would have nightmares. As that was the reason why he came to sleep with me in the first place, I had no hope. I got under the sheets turning the bedside lamp off.

"That's my side" Sherlock said. He was standing at the door; his blue, velvety silk robe was hugging his body.

I tried to control the grin that spread on my face instantly. Without a word I moved to the other side, still smiling. He gave me a questioning look but I ignored.

Each night with him I hoped he would say my name again. I had not yet confronted him about him saying my name in his sleep. And I was sure he said that. The words still rang in my ears so clear. But I was afraid he would not like to hear it or he would stop coming here. Each night I kept my senses straining to hear if he talks in his sleep again. To my disappointment, Sherlock would hardly sleep. He never said a thing again.

I had never ever felt this attraction for a man before. It took me a few more days to call this feeling 'attraction'. I wasn't ready to accept I was fascinated by Sherlock in this way. Yes, he had always amazed me and stunned me with his brilliancy but this was something different. I had never felt before blood rising to my face when he would enter the room or butterflies in my stomach when he would smile a bright smile at me. I felt like a high school girl falling madly in love with a star football player of the school.

Love. _Love._

_No no! I am not in love with him. This is just a phase that will pass sooner or later. I have never dated a man before. I have always dated women!_

I shook away the thought each time it dripped into my mind. This wasn't it. It was something different which I had no explanation for yet.

Another week passed and things didn't change, until that night.

I waited in the bed for Sherlock. A full hour passed. I was getting impatient.

_Should I go downstairs to check on him? No, that would be desperate. I don't want to sound needy._

Another hour passed and I gave up. I tiptoed downstairs and noticed Sherlock sitting on the couch looking expectantly at the door. As if he knew I was coming.

"What's the matter?" I asked settling myself in the rocker chair.

"I can't sleep"

"When _do _you sleep" I said sounding more like a statement.

"What are we up to then?"

"Don't you have to sleep?" He asked with an eyebrow raised.

"Nah, I can't sleep either." I tried to lie. If looking away helps lying usually, it never helps when lying to Sherlock. He surely sensed something was up.

We sat there in silence. I tried to relax but with him in the same room I could feel the adrenaline level increasing.

"Erm, do you want anything to eat?" I asked to lessen the tension.

"I want a cigarette" He said like a stubborn child.

"Sherlock, you've been doing great so far. Why ruin it now? Do you want anything else?" I gained a threatening glare.

"A bag of chips would do" That was an order from him and now I was supposed to get up and fetch the chips. I had started to read between the lines.

I got up and walked to the kitchen counter. When I say 'kitchen counter' it hardy explain its purpose when you are living in 221B with Sherlock Holmes. The counter was full of all kinds of mess; pickled nails in a container, cockroaches and lizards floating in some solution, test tubes filled with multi-coloured fluids and what not. I scowled at the sight and continued with my search. Everything that was not supposed to be in the kitchen had found a place with dignity in 221B. I realized I must remember the order of the containers and all the crap they were kept in. Because the consulting detective is never pleased when anyone messes with his work (in fact tidying his work).

Surrendering to the mess, I called out for him.

"Sherlock, where the bloody hell are the chips? It's all crap here" Exasperation leaking in my voice.

"This is not crap" Sherlock said right in my ear. I jumped with fright but Sherlock didn't move. His nose briefly touched my ear sending shivers through me. I felt wobbly in the knees. I took support of the counter to keep myself steady. Sherlock, walking away with one swift movement, reached out and produced the bag of chips.

I stared at him from where I was unable to move my legs. He stared back. I couldn't take my eyes off him and neither could he. In usual situations this would have been awkward but not this time. For the first time Sherlock wasn't asking why I was staring. We both very well knew what was happening.

Sherlock moved closer to close the distance between us and staood just some inches away from my face. I gazed in his gray pair of eyes. My heartbeat was racing, ears were reddened. I could feel my face getting hotter with each passing second and I very well knew Sherlock could feel that too.

"John" Sherlock says just above a whisper. My eyes fluttered. The way my name sounded in his mouth made my heartbeat just about to explode. He leaned in. I was wide eyed. I didn't flinch away. I wanted to take a step forward and crush my lips to his but I couldn't find my wobbly legs. I was about to faint with the tension running between us.

Sherlock closed his eyes and stopped moving abruptly. With one hand he threw the chips on the counter and whisked pass me. I stood there dumbstruck. With a loud bang of his bedroom door he was gone.

My breathing was heavy. I couldn't process what happened a moment ago and what was happening now. I rested my lower back against the counter and slid down to the floor. With my face buried in my hands I finally admit, _I was in love with my flat mate. I was in love with Sherlock Holmes._

I didn't realize how much time I spent in the bed next morning, staring blankly at the ceiling. I knew I had to face him again. I got up and got freshened up. I finally came to the conclusion of not saying anything until Sherlock initiates.

I came downstairs and with a deep breath entered the room. Sherlock didn't look up from his microscope. I tried to relax and act normal. It was so harder to pretend than just confronting. But I was not sure what he really wanted. I didn't understand why he had left me there in the kitchen all alone. _What was on his mind?_

His phone beeped.

"It's your phone." _That wasn't hard, _I thought as I passed by him_._

"Hmm. It keeps doing that" I could jump with joy as I realized we were still on the talking terms.

Settling myself in the rocker I tried to make a safe conversation. His phone beeped again.

"I'll get it, shall I?" I took the phone and read the message. My heart stopped beating for a brief moment.

Re-reading the text, checking again and again if I was reading it right, I finally found my legs to walk over to Sherlock to hand him the phone.

"Not now. I'm busy" Sherlock said without looking up.

"Sherlock-"

"Not now!"

"-He's back."

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**** Guys what do you think about this? I had a different idea in my mind when I started the story but this sounds exciting, doesn't it? It does a hell lot to me! :D**


	4. Chapter 4

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**** This took me a little longer to write. I tried to make it as much fluff as I could without fornicating it. :P **

**Thank you yet again for your encouraging words. I never thought people could like my writing. **

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Moriarty was back and everything in 221B changed. Sherlock hardly spoke, barely ate unless forced to and never slept. Purple black circles under his eyes were getting pronounced day by day. He would get himself locked in his bedroom or work in his lab day and night. After the night when we had almost-kiss situation, Sherlock never turned up in my room again. But that was not my concern anymore. Of course I wanted him to sleep with me but more than anything else I wanted him to be his own self again. I wanted him to be arrogant git as everybody calls him. I missed everything about the old Sherlock. I would happily be taunted than to see him in this condition. Every night I stayed up as long as I could. There were nights when I would sleep in the chair and wake in the morning with sour body. I just wanted him to know he wasn't alone in this. Sherlock was a man of few words when it came to expressing sentiments. I knew he needed me, although he accepts the fact only when unconscious.

It had been four weeks since Moriarty's return. I had made Sherlock eat the takeaway I had brought on my way back from the grocery. For last three days I had not been to work. I couldn't leave Sherlock alone. Of course, he could take care of himself but there was a nagging feeling inside me that something bad was going to happen. Something really bad. Whenever Moriarty returns, he brings with him treacherous circumstances. You never know what murder would lead to him. You never know what he has on his mind. It was an awfully unpredictable game that Sherlock was no longer enjoying, I could tell that.

Lestrade had brought two cases this week. Sherlock had solved both of them with no sign of Moriarty's involvement. He was disappointed. Moriarty was still in the prison but that didn't mean his hands were tied. He had his men, and women, working for him. Two weeks from now Sherlock had to appear in the court. That had me anxious too. Sherlock was going to be a difficult task _for the jury_.

Sherlock ate the food I had brought for him, without a word, without an argument. Surprising me more, he smiled faintly when he finished. It took some moments to digest the fact that Sherlock had smiled. He was finally getting back on the track. I felt a great relief wash through me.

"Thank you, John" He said in his deep voice. I need not ask why. I smiled back.

Sherlock went back into the trance. Every day was mentally and physically tiring. I sighed in exasperation. Without disturbing him, I tiptoed to the door and with a final look at him I retired to bed.

I couldn't sleep a minute even though every cell of my brain was exhausted. I kept repeating the words Sherlock had said when he was oblivious to what he was saying; I kept repeating over and over again the encounter with him in the kitchen. It seemed like another life. I closed my eyes. I don't know how many minutes or hours passed. I wasn't asleep but I was not aware of the surrounding now, lost in deep thoughts.

Other side of bed dipped under weight and a set of hands found my chest pulling me closer. Sherlock's scent filled the room. _Was I dreaming?_ I opened my eyes and rolled over. Sherlock's warm hand gripped my arms drawing me to him. He faintly smiled and took my hand in his. I moved nearer to him as much as our bodies allowed. I buried my head in his chest. I could feel his breath in my hair. He felt warm. _Yes, Sherlock was here, in my bed again._

We didn't talk for what seemed like an eternity. We didn't need to talk. His presence here spoke everything I ever needed to know. We rested in each other's arms, relaxing the rush inside us.

"You know, this is not what you do when someone creeps into your bed" His voice husky.

"What am I supposed to do then?"

"You should keep the gun ready"

"I know when it's you. Nobody comes here at this ungodly hour" My laugh muffled in his chest.

He considered it for a moment. I was trying to hold on to ever single moment we spend together. I never know when he would go back to his unvoiced self again.

"John" I looked up at him.

"Do you trust me?"

"More than I trust myself"

"I need you, John"

"I know" I don't know if he heard my response. His hand found my chin and pulled my face to him. I stretched myself up to his lips. With a soft sigh, Sherlock's lips touched mine. I felt blood running to my face. In the cold night, I felt sweat on my neck. His hand lead mine to his waist and resting it there, continued to travel from my waist to the lower back until it tangled with my hair. He pulled me closer and nibbled my lower lip. He was becoming fierce with passing seconds. His tongue found my lips asking for permission into my mouth. Willingly I opened it wider. His tongue discovered my insides with his tongue, got intertwined with mine. With my hand on his waist I pulled him closer. His lips were violent against mine. I gasped for breath. He moved about my cheek tracing different patterns with his sharp nose. He ran along my neck line.

"John, I don't like to be afraid" He said breathing heavy.

"You need not to be Sherlock. This is going to fine" I hardly trusted the words.

He pulled away to look at me, looking deep into my eyes. He didn't trust the words either.

"Sherlock, if you are not going to get me involved how am I supposed to help you?" Remembering last two weeks, I shivered.

"I don't want _you_ to be involved. Moriarty has used you as a card against me, John. I don't want to see you hurt again"

"And what you were doing for past weeks didn't hurt at all, you think?"

He didn't respond instead looked at out entwined hands.

"Sherlock, look, I am going to help you this way or another. You got to let me know what is happening and what we are doing next" I said, emphasizing on _we_. He nodded.

"What did you mean when you said 'I know'?"

I looked at him in puzzlement.

"When I said 'I need you'?" He rolled his eyes at my total disregard of the conversation.

I smirked. So he _did_ notice.

"What?" He asked, impatient.

"Nothing"

"John Hamish Watson, you are going to tell me why you said that" He was threatening me now. I smirked again. This was my time to be entertained. Oh, how I wished to take revenge of the times when he had taunted and made me look like a useless piece of crap. He fixed his eyes on me; another warning. I ignored him completely; instead pulled him closer and planted a kiss on his chick. I buried my face in his chest wishing this moment to last forever.

"I thought you would be angry after what happened in the kitchen" He said quietly.

"Why would I be? I got what I wanted in the end" I hugged him tighter.

"I don't understand this. Why do I feel this way? With Moriarty after me, I don't want to risk what we have. I was so sure I would never feel this way for anyone, but then you came along, John. Every time I talked about Irene Adler the jealousy you felt, I could sense that. The way you looked at me, the way your heart beats faster when you see me looking at you and every little thing that you couldn't notice until now; I could very well sense it. But the odd thing was I was feeling the same. I still don't understand what is happening."

It was too much to take. Sherlock, directly or indirectly, accepting the fact that he too felt the same was overwhelming. I never imagined he would ever look at me this way. I knew this is the far most he would get to express his feelings.

"You should have kissed me in the kitchen" He sighed and kissed my temple. I inhaled his sweet breath.

"You don't understand, John. Moriarty takes advantage of every little loop, John and this time it's you who I am risking-"

"You are not risking anything, Sherlock. Nobody needs to know this. Nobody's business"

"Hold on, are you implying you are embarrassed to be seen with me?" His eyebrow shot up. I rolled my eyes.

"I would run down to every street of London telling everybody I see that we are together if I had to and if that wasn't a problem. _You_ are worried to risk my life, I am not." I could not stop but to make a face.

"You don't under-" He started to argue again. I cut him short.

"Shut up and let me do this" I sealed my lips to his, his words muffled in my mouth. Finally, I had found a way to silence Sherlock Holmes. He didn't respond for a moment but then pulling me closer he kissed me back, frustration escaping his lips.

No matter how much I tried to convince me, or him, deep down I was afraid too. But in that moment I forgot all my worries and gave in to him.


	5. Chapter 5

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**** This is the last chapter of The Things Left Unsaid! It's been an exciting journey so far and I thank everyone for following/ reviewing/ marking this story favourite.**

**Hope you enjoy this chapter! I would love to hear your thoughts :)**

**Thank you so much! :)**

I saw him sitting there perfectly at peace. Eyes closed and hands supporting his pale chin. If I didn't know him well I would probably have thought he's praying. A corner of his perfectly shaped lips shot up. I stood in front of him, my breathing heavy. My heart hammered fast as I half ran to him. I took a minute to calm down without taking my eyes off him. God only knows how he can be so at ease here.

"You came back"

I huffed and dropped my shoulders. _Of course I would come back_. He can be pretty ignorant of things sometimes.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"People don't like coming here."

"Well, I do" I threw myself by his side. I moved as much close to him as I could. He looked exceptionally pale today. His chick bones were jutting out of his skin. His lips were whiter than they used to be. And the curls of his hair were standing in all directions possible.

Sherlock loosened his hands' grasp and moved one hand to find mine lying on my knee. He was cold. I shuddered at the touch. I tightened my palms around his. Looking at out tangled hands for long moments, I felt the rush inside me rising once again.

"You shouldn't be sitting outside here, you know. You might catch cold" I looked up to find him eyeing him me with affection. Yes, that was definitely affection. I was now convinced the only consulting detective in the whole wide world, Sherlock Holmes, was capable of showing _sentiments_ too. He smiled taking our tangled hands to his lips and with a little pressure on the back of my hand he squeezed them together. I moved further close and he invited me in. I rested my head on his shoulder. Sherlock freed his hand from our meshed fingers before I could protest and put his arm around my shoulders to pull me closer. I fit perfectly into his slim figure.

"John, I don't like being here" His voice broke with each word. I closed my eyes and I knew I didn't like coming here either. It was for the sake of Sherlock I was here.

"A few more days, Sherlock. Patience"

"Hm" He agreed and I got the hint that he wouldn't say anything about it anymore.

Sun was setting in the west. Lights were illuminating the deserted walkways. Wintry chills were numbing my chick. He seemed to notice that.

"You are cold. Where's your jumper?" He smirked. I would never know in my life why he made fun of my sweaters. They were perfect for the hospital and, if you ask me, ideal for the crime scenario too. Nothing too formal; nothing too casual.

"I forgot." I said inhaling his scent. It was freezing. But if I get back to retrieve the sweater I would have no guarantee of finding him here. So I just dropped the idea and instead hid my chilling nose in his scarf. We rested there watching the sun light getting dimmed with each passing minute.

"You don't eat enough these days, do you?"

_He's the one to talk._

"Indian Masala has raised their rates" I laughed. He chuckled.

"You need to take care of yourself, John. You look thinner than usual" He said, concern leaking in his voice. He moved his other arm and held my chin in his frosty hand. He angled my face so he can look at me carefully. Slowly leaning down he stopped until our breaths mingled. His sweet and inviting scent made me shiver. He rested his forehead on mine and closed his eyes.

"What would I do without my blogger?" He said in heavy voice. A tear escaped his corner of eye. He was hurting. I absolutely have no idea of what to do when Sherlock loses hopes. I don't know how to make him believe this is going to be okay when he cries like this. I stroked away his tear and held his chick in one hand.

"No tears, Sherlock. We agreed." I tried to keep away the pain from my voice. I controlled the tear of my own as they threatened to escape. My eyes were moistening.

I couldn't find words to express feelings. He was everything I had asked for in my entire life and yet, all those months, I failed to see how much he meant to me. I never thought of leaving Sherlock Holmes once I met him. I found harmony here which I had lost somewhere while leading the lonely life. With his utter weirdness and wildness, he makes me feel home somehow. I couldn't even start to think what my life would be like without him. I owed him so much. I owed him my life. But I couldn't tell him how much I wanted him; _how much I loved him. _

Sherlock smiled gently as if he was reading my thoughts. Pulling my face closer, his lips gently touched mine. His hand moved to my neck tracing circles before it tangled in my hair. I trembled. His cold and strong digits knotted with my hair. His lips were demanding now, moving with urgency against mine. My back arched as the kiss deepened. His hand moved to my lower back and pulled me closer. I started to caress his perfectly shaped chest. I felt the heat rising in my face. He broke the contact of our lips to give me access to breath. I breathed heavily. His lips were moving about my neck kissing and stroking every bit of my skin. I kissed his ear softly.

We sat there watching the shadows getting longer. It was getting darker and colder. Distant street lights were blinking through the dense trees. But I had no intensions to move.

"You miss me, John, don't you?" said he. I chuckled. Easy deduction. Closing my eyes, I buried my face in his chest as he traced disordered patterns on my back. I felt his lips lightly lingering in my hair. He was freezing cold and his chest was rigid than it should be. I was too lost in him to care for the chilling night or his rigid body anymore.

"Are you okay, sir?" _Of course we are. Who the bloody hell is asking?_

"Sir-" Somebody was tugging my elbow trying to separate me from Sherlock. I groaned and continued to be in cold grasp of Sherlock's arm.

"Can you hear me-" Sherlock's arm vanished from my shoulder and I snapped open my eyes. A young man was leaning over to me where I sat on the ground, shaking my arm vigorously. His face was dimly lit from the light coming from the road side lamp and I had no bloody idea who he was.

The ground was pretty cold. _How did I not realize before? _I looked to my side with at Sherlock. He wasn't here, instead I was resting on a cold black marble stone. _Was there something written on it?_ My eyes were yet to adjust to the darkness. _Where did he go?_ _He was just here a moment ago!_ I looked at the man helplessly. He had me by the elbow now and was looking confused. I had no clue where Sherlock was. I looked around as I regained my senses. _Was it the cemetery? _I glanced by my side weakly hoping I would find him there. The man was still pulling me by arm.

His name written on the black stone in golden bold letters caught my attention.

_SHERLOCK HOLMES_

A stream of tears ran from the corner of my eye as the reality hit me.

Sherlock Holmes was dead and I lay here with the words I left unsaid.

**AUTHOR'S**** NOTE: I have been thinking to write ****sequel to this. Let me know if you'd like to read it :)**

******UPDATE: The sequel to this is available on my profile! You'll find it under the name 'Moment We Shared Together'**


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